Get-in chaos could have been worse

Foreshadowing?

Me, looking a little damp.

Kieron lounges.

Break-in practice

Callum was left in the position of Papa Duck to Kieron, after Derek forgot his only son and continued downriver.

Christened.

Callum lead climbs with Rhian's boat.

The annual SCA canoe show in Perth pretty well guarantees that Sunday afternoon can get a bit crowded in the Thistlebrig car park.

Queensferry Cycle – 14/10/2006

In the early part of the summer, Thomas had made an effort to form a Pyromaniacs on Wheels group. He called it something different. Unfortunately, it was short-lived. They took one trip together, cycling to the Falkirk Wheel along the canal. This time, Juan de Dios was the instigator. On a walk in one morning, he described his "to do" list of trips before returning to Chile. Among the list was a trek to the Forth Bridges, which was also on my "to do" list. A plan was hatched. Alan joined us. Others expressed regrets for other committments interfering.

Juan and I set off around 10am. We met Alan at the boat house on Union Canal and headed west to Ratho. Union Canal is nice for being somewhat sheltered and very car-free. Saturday late morning means it has plenty of pedestrian congestion. Initial miles were slow, but we were able to cycle more consistently after crossing the Water of Leith. We made reasonably good time to Ratho, where we stopped for a lemonade and a map conferral.

Neil had warned against cycling this route. The canal can be kind of boring. Having trained for and run a marathon recently, I suspect we have different connotations of boring. Also, his group had some traffic excitement getting out of Ratho. My map gave us a reasonable trek through an industrial park and short stretch on a protected cycle path beside a busy road before putting us on dirt track most of the way to Queensferry. The path beside the busy road was the least pleasant part, but easily endured. The dirt track smelled of cow, but otherwise was more interesting. We made a semi-wrong turn at one junction with a car road and ended up having to carry bikes through a gap between fence and wall. That one was sort of my fault.

We cycled through the woods for a long time and then suddenly through the trees saw water and bridge. The suddenness made it more interesting. I wasn't expecting it quite so soon. We followed the now-paved cycle trail to its end in Queensferry and then began exploring. We cycled downhill to the water, wandered out on a cement pier for photos and then continued on the cobbly High Street to consider pub options. The basic plan was pub first then lunch, so we stopped at one of the pubs under the Forth Railroad Bridge. Pub was nice, but I enjoyed lunch in the sun more. :)

After lunch, we cycled across the Forth Road Bridge, stopping to enjoy the view and take photos. At the other side, we locked the bikes and walked to the top of the stairs to find a smallish playground beckoning. Only I heard its call. Among the other playground staples waited the best playground ride ever. The Helicopter. Would you believe I had to intice others to spin with me?

We cycled back on the other side of the bridge, which required a portage. In the distance, I could see the ferry to Zeebrugge waiting in port. I stopped for a few more photos before bidding bridges goodbye. We cycled back along the High Street, under the rail bridge and then up a very long hill. We knew it was coming. Uphill to Edinburgh was inevitable. It was a lung-in-throat hill, not quite Granny Gear material, but close. I get a bit myopic with hills, so I ended up waiting at the top for my compatriots to catch up.

We followed cycle route 1 back into town, enjoying the rolling hills from the countryside back into the city. We stopped for one last round of photos at the River Almond, which should provide a nice contrast of before and afters for Juan. The downside of following cycle routes is following them blindly. We found ourselves confronted with the big road by Haymarket, not so keen to tangle with busy traffic and not sure where we could have turned differently. Finally, we decided to go for it and let Alan lead the way. It wasn't bad. Congestion helps slow the cars down. I never felt like I was going to die, a bonus. Juan and I parted company with Alan after a convoluted detour at Tollcross. I led the way and promptly jumped to the cycle paths at the Meadows for a short break. The path home was mostly downhill and just a few minutes later, I was carrying my bike back upstairs to home after thanking Juan for instigating. Time check said 17.00 more or less on the nose. Perfect. No big plans for the night, because tired wouldn't be all that far away. Good stuff. :)

Forth Railroad Bridge from our picnic vantage point.

The town of Queensferry is much like other small Scottish towns. Co-op, check. Old church, check. Slow High Street, check. Cobbly bits optional.

Forth Railroad Bridge while waiting.

Here I am, enjoying the sun as much as possible, hoping not to get roasted.

Forth Railroad Bridge as seen from the Forth Road Bridge. A colleague of mine from my last gig is a tad obsessed with this bridge, so I sent a few photos her way.

There it was, trying to blend in with the rest of the rides.

The best playground ride ever.

The portage to the west side of the Forth Road Bridge involved a few stairs.

River Almond... Looks like a weir is just downstream. Once a river geek, always a river geek.

The End (nearly).

Glentress Rocks! - 7/10/2006

Neil’s cunning plan of mountain biking at Glentress was flawless. If you consider a sketchy, 100k+, stinky, loud, diesel van flawless that is. We rented a very well used Ford Transit work van from the smarmy and very local Van Man somewhere near Fountainbridge. Being the only over 25, I was the designated driver. Originally, our van was scheduled to be the larger red variety, but the Van Man seemed a little concerned that I might be some meek little girly girl, American to boot, who would crash one of his rusted heaps, so he gave us the smaller white variety of old, knackered Transit. George dropped us off and made an Asda run. Neil was kind enough to ride shotgun and serve as depth perception on the drive home. Work van meant no rear view mirror and I’m not great to remember to check my offside. We made it back to Neil’s flat intact, where it took another 10 or so minutes to get bikes loaded in a reasonably safe and non-scratching array. Then we were off.

George drove with Fraser as shotgun. Neil and Jim rode with me, with Neil serving as navigator/scout and Jim as experienced-with-vehicles-of-dubious-merit backup driver. The old Van Man Transit handled better than we expected. Even though George was ahead when we left town and he managed to leave us behind at a light, we beat George to the Glentress lower car park by several minutes. Hmmm… Wrong turn anyone?

Rob of EKC fame met us at the car park. After obligatory faff, we were on our way. The plan for the day was the red trails. Quickly it became apparent that mountain biking in Scotland was true mountain biking, in the Out West sense. We cycled up for a very long time. Occasional bits of trails through the forest broke up the longer stretches on wide dirt roads. The view got better as we climbed. The weather looked as if it had rain on its mind the whole time. The wind felt like it meant business. I didn’t need a jacket for climbing, but once we reached the top, I was happy to have it. The top car park was as full as the two at the bottom.

Rob suggested a short stretch of downhill as a warm up, to make sure everybody was ready for the adventures of the day. We climbed a little more. Rob’s gave us instructions before we entered. When you get to the end, stay right. Will we know it when we get there? Yes. Stay right. Many of us dropped our saddles. Even though I wasn’t the slowest to the top, I figured I would be slowest on the way down. I was right, but so was Rob. After a few minutes of zipping through tight twisty turns down, I found the jumble he meant and stayed right. Being a little nervous leading up to it, I ended up stepping out. If we went at it for a second run, I doubt I would need that step. It really wasn’t bad. It was a bit steeper than Hamilton Creek of Nashville fame, but not nearly as technical.

Just a few zips and we were back climbing again. Back up near the top, we entered the first of the official red trails. Down we zipped, twisting and turning our way down steep switchbacks and over small rocks and roots. It was good fun. My body was happy to be back on a proper mountain bike trail, even though my backside was scheduling its complaints for later.

We regrouped after each stretch of downhill singletrack before climbing upward to the next trailhead. Zip. Climb.

Jim popped a tire. George broke a tire lever. Faff ensued, but not for long. We climbed again.

Zip. Climb.

In the middle of one particularly long climb, we stopped at an exposed overlook that had a picnic table and enjoyed some very necessary calories. Flapjacks, cheese and apple juice were my choices. They were the best meal ever at that particular moment.

The long climb continued. I had to walk once for about 3 seconds, but otherwise I was intact when we reached the top. I wasn’t last either. :) This next stretch was a longish section of downhill with some interesting jumps and banked verges. We regrouped at the top before charging downhill. Zip zip zip. It was awesome. I weenied out of the jumps – each one had an easy sneak – but the banked verges were a new joy. They countered Master Carl’s teachings years ago, but they made me feel fast. Zoom!

About halfway down the track, I heard the metallic clunk of faster riders approaching. I found a convenient spot and let them past. At that point, I made a friend for the day. A somewhat rattled girl pulled in behind me to let them past. Once they were gone, we continued onward together. I was a tiny bit faster in some places, so she insisted I lead. Zip. It was good to have company. We continued riding together after the breaks. She met up with her partner. I met up with my group. We all climbed. They went. Then we went. Zip. Climb.

Marathoning caught up with me eventually. I knew it would happen. I took some Vitamin I with breakfast in hopes of postponing it. About 2 hours in, the aches showed up. My legs slowed down on the climbs. My left hip started hurting. I pushed it for a little while, but eventually, I had to slow down and admit I couldn’t keep up on the climbs. I had lost my downhill buddy, too – we had lingered too long at one trailhead making a decision of which way. I slipped to last on the climbs and finally had to walk one stretch. I was given the option to bail then – the road to the bottom was just there – but I decided with just one downhill stretch left, I would enjoy the trail. Climb. Grunt. Zip. Periodically, the trail followed the road, but for the most part, it was me and the trees. I was happy with my choice, even though my hip was no longer silent. I zipped a little slower, but arrived at the bottom in one piece. It was most definitely lunchtime.

We regrouped with food outside the café and enjoyed the meal. Rob was the first to depart. Pregnant wife at home equals responsibilities. The rest of us lounged a bit longer, visited the bike wash and made our way home. This time, Jim rode in the car and left the joy of Van Man Transit to Neil and myself. It was still loud and impossible to have too deep a conversation, but I found myself getting more and more comfortable with the old girl. I could cope with driving it again.

We unloaded at Neil’s and then enacted the morning dropoff in reverse. Neil navigated me to Van Man lot and George picked us up from the street nearby. Van Man gave us our deposit back without even looking at the van or checking the fuel.

We adjourned to Neil’s to retrieve bikes and then left to find clean. George invited us over for dinner and whatever else, so long as it involved a lot of sitting and perhaps beer. Neil and I were the only takers in the end. Fraser had a train to catch and Jim I guess had lounging plans elsewhere. We ate curry – George and Neil split a package of chicken between them while I stuck to veg – and watched insane mountain bikers and then Serenity. The hardest part was the cycle home. My backside took about 10 minutes of cycling to stop complaining and just whine a little at the red lights. I slept well that night.

Loch Ness Marathon - 1/10/2006

Saturday was a perfect day to be a tourist. Inverness was bright, sunny and warm, and littered with tourists. I took it easy, wandered around a little bit and found my way to registration. I didn’t care much for the city centre area, but the walk along the river was beautiful. I was happy that I could enjoy short sleeves for a few hours! I spotted Nessie just outside the registration tent, cheerfully ogling what turned out to be the finish line.

Nessie had a sign on her left shoulder that said “Meeting Point”, as if people would struggle to think of a conspicuous place to find one another.

There were about 10 marathoners staying at the same hostel, so I had plenty of company to enjoy bad television that night. The next morning, even though some were taxiing to the start, I chose to walk it to help me wake up.

Earlier in the week, I had watched Touching the Void, a climbing documentary that had managed to get a really terrible discoey song called Brown Girl in the Ring lodged in my head. The run was a point to point route, so they had hired a fleet of buses to move us all. The bus trip to the starting point replaced Brown Girl in the Ring with the Self Preservation Society from the original Italian Job as these massive buses twisted their way through Highland singletrack. The person sitting beside me had a marathon habit and had run Loch Ness before. We talked a little about the course. He warned me of the hills and specifically the hill at mile 18. I talked about liking the hills because by that point, any change is good to distract the mind. He laughed and halfheartedly agreed with me. As we neared the start, we looked around outside and decided it was not a question of if it would rain but when.

The buses dropped us in the middle of nowhere. Farmlands surrounded us on both sides, with just a handful of houses visible in any direction. They had coffee, tea and water for us as we queued one last time through the portaloos. We dropped our luggage with vans bound for the finish and crossed to behind the start. They had an aerobics instructor lead us through a warm up, a pipe band get us in the mood and sent us on our way back to Inverness.

I started near the back of the group so walked and bobbed my way toward the start. As the gun would really go off when I crossed the line, I did not want to get caught up in the flush of runners. Their signposts for times were a bit spread out, so I started with the four hour group. There were no signs for anyone slower. My gamble paid off. I found my pace in less than a mile. At mile 1, someone ahead of me called out 10:37 to the rest of his group. Perfect. Nice and easy to start. The first few hills would help me adjust my pace.

As we ran along the first road, the race officials needed to get past us as well. I found it a bit frustrating and I learned quickly that left was better than right for letting them past. Right meant sucking exhaust when the cars got stuck behind the next pack of runners. Left was better.

Sometime after mile 2, we turned onto a twistier windier road that would lead us down to Loch Ness. Eventually.

The scenery was great as the road and the creek beside it competed for the limited amount of space available in the gorge. Mile 3 brought us to the first water station and hundreds of plastic bottles lined the roads for the next mile. A few small hills tested us. Some people walked already. A bigger hill waited for us after Mile 4. The rain had started, although it was more of a mist initially. More people walked. Lots of people passed me on the downhill that followed. “Run your own race” echoed in my head. I passed them all again on the next steep climb after Mile 5.

Between Miles 6 and 7, we found ourselves high above Loch Ness. Rolling hills continued and the light rain became steady. Except for the few steep downhills, it didn’t feel like we were heading downhill and I didn’t really notice it until we were running alongside the loch. One of the official photographers stalked people right by the loch. He took pictures of me with loch whiteout behind me. The rain picked up the pace and the headwind became noticeable.

The trees gave us some shelter but by mile 10 the rain had broken through. I was soaked through. I was cold when the wind was noticeable. The hills on the other side of the loch were visible but the tops were lost in fog. Among the runners were about 10 Highlanders from the British Army running and walking in camouflage trousers, green cotton t-shirts (it said Highlander, which is the only way I would have known) with full rucksacks. I passed the first around Mile 10 and the next by Mile 12. Miles 10-15 were good for interesting snippets of conversation as people fell into and out of pace. The ground was relatively flat along the loch, but the rain and wind really messed with people. Miles 10-15 were also good for random thoughts to wander in and out of my head. The gels I was using to get me through the race were Honeystinger Gold, so basically fortified honey. I wondered what the bees do with the honey we don’t steal from them. Around Mile 13, I saw the first DNF huddled in the back of a truck under a pile of space blankets.

The route drifted away from Loch Ness, slowly at first. By Mile 16, the loch was no longer visible. On a clear day, the hills on the far side would have been visible. The rain picked up as a small crowd and a lone piper greeted us in the village of Dores. Flower of Scotland echoed in the distance past Mile 17. The hill at Mile 18 felt like nothing, although the handful of people walking it might disagree.

Up until that point, I had been drinking from my bottle of dilute Lucozade and occasionally taking water offered on the course. After Mile 18, I took a full strength Lucozade that was offered to me. The UK equivalent of Gatorade (which exists but is rare and extremely expensive), Lucozade comes in powder, bottle and squeezy packet form. Orange flavoured Lucozade tastes like Tang. The first sip of squeezy packet Tang evoked my perfume face. I was good for about five sips before giving the rest to nature, hoping the rain would help the grass not stain orange.

Mile 20 approached and I felt strong. I felt like I could run forever, rain or no rain. After the hill at Mile 20.5, I felt absolutely shattered. Halfway up, a race official was offering to share her chocolate biscuits with runners passing by. Some accepted her offer. I looked at her like she had three heads. One of those heads said there was more Lucozade ahead and cheered me onward. By the time I neared the top, I was the only one in view still running. Every step hurt, like someone was pinching my quadriceps, but I kept running.

The course eased downhill and then levelled. Between Miles 21 and 23, I force-fed myself the last gel in my pack. It took me two full miles to eat it. We were approaching Inverness so we had more steady traffic around us and more houses and businesses, too. The course had flattened and I knew from the elevation map that it was relatively flat to the finish.

When I passed the Mile 23 sign, I decided my legs had a 5K left in them so I picked up the pace. My legs still hurt but no worse than when I was running slower. Bribery took over. A faster pace meant fewer steps, which meant less pain. The bribe worked. Not a single person passed me along the River Ness.

The course followed the river to the bridge at Inverness City Centre, crossed the bridge and headed back along the other bank to the stadium. I didn’t even notice Inverness Castle. My eyes were on the bridge. After the bridge, my eyes were looking for every familiar turn in the road back to the stadium. I gagged a few more sips of Lucozade after Mile 25 more as a mental assurance that my pace wouldn’t fade than out of necessity. One of the earlier finishers laughed at my perfume face as he walked past.

The turn to the finish was not where I expected. Instead we continued on our road and turned at the next right. It threw me for a moment. After the turn, I could see a smudge in the distance that had to be the Mile 26 marker. As I ran past two men walking together, one said it looks like she has fresher legs than ours. I laughed, but I doubt they heard me. I turned the corner at the 26 and picked up the pace again. The rain did, too. I turned the next corner and had to mind the mud in the 10 metres between the pavement and the track. Race officials pointed at the mud and cheered me on. A hundred metres to go. The clock in the distance looked like it had a 4 on the left. That is all I needed to see.

The guy announcing people approaching the finish misread my number and called me Oliver Somebody. Even in that state, I don't think I looked like an Oliver! Intermittently during the last 5K, I heard him encouraging people to the finish. He was too confused to make such a cheer for Oliver. The clock came in view 4:58.28 was the last time that I saw before I crossed the finish. My last thought as I crossed the line was a hope that one of the official photographers was crouched at just the right angle to get the finishers crossing the line with cartoon Nessie and her googly eyes looming overhead.

At the finish, they handed us our medals, goody bags and t-shirts. The Nessie t-shirt is quite cute. The race logo is a running shoe with the lace loosened into Nessie silhouette. They had several volunteers set up to help reclaim the race chips. In the rain. Having to undo laces because the chips were so new that they had not yet thought of the ease of cable ties. I felt bad for them, since they, too, had spent the better part of the day in the rain.

No longer running, the rain and wind started catching up to me. I decided to see if first aid could give me one of those nylon space blankets. The paramedic took me by the hand and then freaked about how cold it was. The space blanket wasn’t enough. He bandaged me into what felt like a tablecloth and added a wool blanket over top. He demanded that I sit down. I thanked him for the blankets but refused to sit down. We argued. Finally, he gave up and walked away. Another paramedic came over and she renewed the argument. I told her when I collapsed to the floor she was welcome to put me in the chair. She laughed and left me in my bunting.

I spent about an hour in the tent warming up. As it cleared of more exciting casualties, they moved me closer to the heater. My legs alternated between scorching and freezing, but gradually the extremes diminished. Finally, I thanked them for the warmth and went to find my dry clothes and a hot shower. They gave me a nylon space blanket to get me inside. The tent with the bags was connected to the tent with the first aid, masseuses and charities except there was a big “No Entry” sign in the one direction I wanted to go. It was enforced. We had to go back outside to walk to the other side of the tent to be allowed in, nevermind the rain.

Surprisingly, the showers inside were not crowded at all. I could have spent hours in the warm, but I settled for about 10 minutes. My stomach suggested that it wanted real food before the three hour trip to Edinburgh. I had spotted an Indian restaurant on the walk back the day before, so my plan was takeaway for the train ride. I had just enough time to waddle my way there, pick up dinner and reach the train a few minutes before departure.

The last time I ran a marathon, I didn’t feel the need to run another one. I believe my exact words were, “ask me in a few months… If you ask me today, the answer’s no.” They say history repeats itself. If another opportunity like Loch Ness comes along, after this pain is long gone, maybe. Otherwise, no.

Epilogue: My gun time was 4:59:09, which does not mesh with what I saw on the board approaching the finish. Chip time was 4:57:00. I placed 101/133 in my age group and 1077/1233 overall. The race started with over 2000 participants, which meant nearly 800 runners didn't run or dropped out before the finish.

I walked from my hostel to the race finish on Saturday. The weather was gorgeous and forecasts promised more of the same. I snapped this photo of Inverness Castle on my walk.

I saw Nessie!

The sign on her left shoulder says "Meeting Point", as if people really needed to think hard to come up with a conspicuous place to find each other.

The cavalry of buses waited as runners queued. They dropped us in the middle of nowhere and left us to make our way back to Inverness.

Pipers put us in the mood.

It looked like rain at the start. Turns out, we were right.

Look at me run! In the rain! If you squint really really hard, you can make yourself see Nessie lurking in the corner and contemplating a meal. Click here to see this photo and the others from the professional photographers larger but with a copyright stamp across them.

A Blast from the Past - I Saw Elvis - 27/4/2002

Nessie not being my first encounter with the marathon has prompted some comparison of the two experiences. Naturally, my thoughts returned to this race report:

I Saw Elvis
^{My Tale of the Country Music Marathon}

I survived. Considering I probably could have crawled that last mile faster than I ran it, I was thrilled.

I started in the fourth herd along with the four Dolly Parton impersonators. The thought of running 26.2 miles was daunting. The thought of running it with that much extra hair and gold lamé was unbelievable. To Dolly's credit, they didn't quite carry Dolly-sized boobs.

The sirens sent us off, eleven thousand runner-lemmings marching to our doom. When I hit the first downhill, the leaders had already disappeared.

Somewhere around mile 4, one of the talk radio stations was blasting some boring guy yammering about the corruption of our children. I wondered if it was strategy to slow us down.

I saw my friends at the curve by Belmont. I went over to visit them, partly because I knew they'd never see me otherwise and partly to drop off my extra layers. I was with the four-hour pacers as we continued up Belmont. The guy leading that group said, "If you guys can handle this climb here, you can handle Heartbreak Hill at Boston." The guy next to me said, "What he's not telling you is that Heartbreak Hill is at mile 20." I saw David my training buddy for the first time just before the 10K point.

At mile 7, I saw Elvis. He was running the other way. Maybe it was a sign?

Somewhere around mile 9, we had our religious experience. A bus parked along the course proclaimed, "Repent and Jesus will save you!"

At mile 11, the Halfsies split from us and the herd thinned significantly. I met up with David again as we headed to the wasteland of MetroCenter. Many of us thought they should put all of the lousy bands there to get us through it faster.

I hit The Wall around mile 15, five miles earlier than I expected. Not far behind me, some poor guy started puking his guts up. He attempted to run through it because for a little while, the noise didn't get any softer. I didn't turn around to check. The guy next to me said, "Wow, no matter how bad I think I feel right now, it's not nearly as bad as him." I stopped taking my Goo at Mile 15. Bad idea, yes, absolutely. Trust me, it would have been worse if I had taken another one. I started drinking the awful sport drink they had on the course, but it wasn’t the same.

Then I hit That Other Wall. After mile 20, I couldn't tell you what color the sky was. We passed within a quarter mile of the finish line with still an hour to go. Groan. Thankfully, as we headed into East Nashville, we saw people again, people drinking beer and eating BBQ as we ran by. One guy offered us donuts. Others helpfully told us it was all downhill from there. They were lying. It wasn't.

At mile 24, this poor woman stopped and turned around in a few circles and said, "How do I get back to the half marathon?" The courses had separated for our MetroCenter tour and then rejoined briefly just before the turnoff to their finish. She didn't do the MetroCenter part, but just sort of missed the turn to the stadium, crossed over the bright orange cones to our side and then ran/walked four extra miles with us. I said to her, "I guess the best way now is to follow us." I know it wasn’t funny for her, but we were amused. It WAS sort of a big turn to miss.

The last mile was a death march. My brain fought my legs for every step. Twenty-six miles, one last turn, and the end was in sight. I heard my friends yelling my name. One last push and my marathon ended.

I stumbled through the herd of sweaty runners and the aisles of free food to find my friends. At the exit, the photographers waited for the survivors. Wrapped in a space blanket, clutching a bottle of water and sucking on an orange slice, I looked up at the lady, said no. Mercifully, she let me through. Not exactly a moment of glory for posterity. Besides, I knew my friends were good for plenty more blackmail pictures later.

So, I survived. Would I do it again? I don't know. Ask me in a few months, when my memory is hazier. If you ask me today, the answer's no.

River Tay - Grandtully - 23/9/2006

An Edinburgh Kayak Club trip on a Saturday? Indeed! Graham led a small group of us down the Tay from Aberfeldy to below the slalom course at Grandtully. I made an appearance in a butt boat, though I sort of wish I could have C-1ed it. After a good bit of rain, the wtw gauge called the level “medium”. We arrived at the get-out at Grandtully for a look, since that would be the biggest rapid. Grandtully looked big, bouncy and long, but fun. I was looking forward to it.

We drove up to the get-in at Aberfeldy. With such sunny and (relatively) warm weather, the longer trip seemed a nice option. We wandered into Aberfeldy for the lunch-less to change that situation and then got dressed for the river. Nice weather meant I lived dangerously and went with one less layer than usual. Probably around noonish, we hit the water. Craig was the only relative newbie. The rest of the group (Ali, Jean and Alan) had some time in a boat as well as some experience chasing boats. Craig put those skills to the test pretty quickly, with a swim just after missing a relatively challenging break-in or ferry glide. Either would have been fine. Leaning upstream? Not so good.

We wandered downstream to some more gentle break-outs and break-ins. After some good practices, Craig swam again. Lather, rinse, repeat. We continued downriver again. Occasionally a not-so-bashful duck provided a nice lesson in how to ferryglide. Craig’s swim count on the easier stuff was 3. All were trying new things, so nothing to be upset over.

About halfway through the run, the rapids started. For the lack of description in the guidebook, they were bigger and bouncier than I expected. Like Stanley, especially that trip where it was at flood, the water was boily and turbulent with some lateral waves to make things interesting. Nothing was too difficult. At one of the bigger grade 2s, a lateral wave produced swim #4 for Craig. We talked a bit about forward strokes and support strokes, how most times a forward stroke will eliminate the need for a support stroke. That changed his world a little. He said the next rapids felt much easier.

Not spending much time in a kayak lately, it was easy to forget how short I could feel. Boat scouting reminded me. I never had difficulty getting through something, but occasionally lines could have been prettier.

A few more wee rapids brought us to Grandtully itself, before any of us expected it. Slalom gates covered the river all the way to the bridge. From the eddy at the top, they looked like they were everywhere. Craig swam again, so Graham chased and the rest of us found our way into an eddy at the top to stay out of the way. Alan went downstream to help with Craig retrieval. Ali, Jean and I waited pretty much forever before deciding we would need to get out of our boats to see what was going on. We found the boys down by the get-out looking at the rapids. Graham hiked up and ran it for the rest to see. Then we allocated the ducky line to run it together. Ali opted for the dry line and photo duties.

The plan was Graham ducky, Craig ducky, Alan ducky, Jean ducky with Christine ducky in running sweep. Craig made a beautiful ferry glide across to river left, not knowing what he had done, just that he had to be left to enter. Nothing like necessity to motivate.

A little less than halfway through the rapids, Jean found herself in an eddy so I got ahead of her. Little bouncies became bigger bouncies became big bouncies. About ¾ of the way down, we knew there was a big boulder waiting for us. Lines to the left or right would do and neither looked difficult from the bank. My intention was to bounce along the waves to the right of the boulder. As I was approaching, I found the boulder with no difficulty and aimed right, but one of the bouncies flung me to river left and suggested that line might be better. The downside of left was missing the very friendly eddy on the right above the bridge and the opportunity to regroup.

I drifted under the bridge looking ahead for the next rapid. Graham and Craig were ahead of me. I could see the horizon line but not the most appropriate line. Graham went first, sort of near the middle. I kept looking, trying to see why he went that way. Craig went next and I watched him get flung end over end. I knew he would be swimming. I saw a bit of what flipped him and I found the perfect line just a few feet to my left as I got flung end over end like Craig. I landed upside down and the force of the water yanked my arms back over my head. My shoulder protested. I came out of the boat. Fortunately, it was pleasant enough conditions for a swim. Graham had his hands full getting Craig to the beach, so I continued my self rescue. Near the bank, Alan and Craig were able to help tend to my boat so I could get in the eddy. Jean found a sneak on far right, so she joined us soon afterwards.

Craig’s and my swims meant we missed the convenient ramp of a get-out on river right and had to do a little climbing with boats. Teamwork helped. We stopped for a look at the flipper hole and wandered back to meet Ali at the car park. Dry clothes were nice. Late lunch was nicer. With the sun starting to think about setting, we headed for home. It was a nice day for an out-of-practice butt boater. Good weather, good water, good company. Sadly, I forgot my camera, so there are only tales of carnage and not evidence.

River Spey - 4/9/2006 - 10/9/2006

In the first week of September, Lucas and I paddled the River Spey from Kingussie (pronounced kin-yoo-see) to the sea. The paddle itself took us five days. Shuttle took a day to set and a little over an hour to finish. The river was lovely. It was not as wildernessy as we had expected, but still a worthy adventure.

The original plan for a week of vacation was the cross-Scotland Caledonian Canal route that ran from the west coast across Loch Ness and ended at the Moray Firth in Inverness. After a few visits to Loch Ness, Lucas and I decided that the scenery was ok, but the route itself was more conducive to other craft. To paddle five days in Scotland, several options remained. We chose the River Spey descent. While many claimed it could be done in three days, we figured at summer levels it would be three days of epic mileage. The first eight miles are supposed to be epic scrape, so we put in at Kingussie and ran all the way to the sea at Spey Bay.

The first adventure was setting up shuttle. We hired a Ford Ka and managed to fit all of our gear happily in the boot with visibility out the rear window not compromised at all. I booked a hostel at Kingussie and dropped Lucas plus gear there before driving north to Spey Bay. Traveline helped me sort out the public transport for a trip from Spey Bay to Kingussie. I was meant to catch the bus from the visitor centre at Spey Bay into the town of Fochaber. Unfortunately, I did not reconfirm the travel details the day before we left. The bus stop moved from the visitor centre to the Spey Bay Hotel. I missed that bus. I checked the mileage, grabbed my running stuff and drove into Fochabers. Five miles back to the car would be a nice run after nearly a week of just sitting in a boat and occasionally walking. I parked at the town square in Fochaber and caught the big bus to Inverness. Once in Inverness, I caught a train to Kingussie. It was a long shuttle, but it felt slightly green to be using public transport for half of the shuttle.

After shuttle was complete, Lucas and I made dinner and went to bed early to catch an early start the next morning. The weather took a turn for the rainy – we walked to the river in not hugely light rain and assembled the Pakboat among the trees pretty much in the rain. We launched in the just barely still morning and paddled maybe a mile or so. The Pakboat handled very well in its natural habitat – it finally had a multi-day trip with gear to create the appropriate rocker in the centre of the boat. With all the rain, the dryish spot under the highway bridge looked like an inviting lunch stop. Several sheep agreed that it was a good spot, though kept their distance from us. Several canoes passed us whilst we were under the bridge. They looked to have had either an early start in the scrapey 8 miles upstream or a later start more or less where we started. They had lunch envy so our theory was 8 miles upstream.

After lunch, we continued downstream, still in the rain. Riverbank scenery changed from riverish banks to marshy bits on both sides. The marshy bits said Loch Insh was getting closer and sure enough, eventually the river widened into the loch. Despite the rain, the weather was calm enough that a paddle straight across Loch Insh looked like the best option. We saw the outdoor centre on the right bank and several lounging sailboats. Swans swam nearby.

Jack Lyle likes to say there is no such thing as a rainy day in a kayak. Apparently, there is no such thing as a rainy day for a swan or a duck either. Unfortunately, there was such a thing as a rainy day in a flatwater canoe. It was getting toward late afternoon. I was soaked and cold despite the rain coat. We started looking for camp after Loch Insh and found a spot on a gravel island just downstream from a lowish bridge. Setting up camp was first on the agenda. Second for me was a dry and therefore warm change of clothes. Tea followed, the beverage and the meal. The rain stopped more or less when we did, so I was able to stay warm and dry pretty easily.

Overnight, the water rose from all the rain. Lucas woke me early to suggest it might be a good plan to pack up sooner rather than later. Water was just outside my door of the tent, so I agreed. As we packed the canoe, a duck swam around us and our recently shrunken island.

The weather had improved somewhat. No rain, still a bit overcast. The early start gave us plenty of mileage before lunch. Occasional stretches of wilderness were broken up by pastures with cows and sheep grazing. Sometimes the livestock seemed to have canoe envy. The clouds parted as we paddled, giving us blue skies and occasional sun by lunchtime. We ended up paddling an epic day, something like 30 miles, past the towns of Aviemore and Nethy Bridge, with the Cairngorm Mountains looming in the distance. The high mileage day pretty well broke us even for mileage with the short first day. Finding camp away from civilisation was challenging. We found a smallish island with some trails that suggested use and set up camp there. Turns out the trails were used by fishermen and we had company passing through later in the evening and the next morning.

Day three gave us our first taste of whitewater. As we approached the town of Grantown-on-Spey and the road came in right beside the river, we passed under the bridge that marked the beginning of the whitewater. We messed around in the eddies above the bridge, practicing break outs and break ins, as well as the still awkward reverse ferry glide. After we were satisfied the reverse ferry glide was still elusive, we headed for the rapids, excited to see what awaited. Sure enough, we were treated to easy grade 2- waves as we paddled under the new bridge to the old. The first rapids lasted about a quarter mile. We were both very excited.

Wee rapids continued periodically as we paddled downriver. Nothing was overly challenging. The spray cover for the Pakboat was nice to keep the errant splashes off me. We found a nice spot for lunch along the river left bank. A probably fishing trail followed the river in both directions. A quick dash up the hill led to a bigger road. We continued downriver after lunch and enjoyed more wee rapids along the way. When we felt far enough away from most of the roads and access points, we started looking for camp. We found a spot in the woods on river right that put us a good river width away from a low traffic access road on river left. We saw a few vehicles, probably fishermen, but otherwise it was reasonably quiet.

Camp was a might midgy, being nestled in the woods out of the sun, so the bug nets became useful very quickly. I wandered upstream to have a look around the area and found that climbing over downed trees and trying to follow the trail were challenging with the reduced visibility of the bug net. I scared some ducks, took an interesting photo of the river framed by the trees and ambled back to camp.

Day four gave us more whitewater, including the section popular for whitewater day trips. We had fun running all of the named and unnamed rapids. The rapids that promised to be the biggest 2/2+ fun gave us the most water in the Pakboat. The wide river channelled to nearly half its width with a noticeable drop. Wave train mania. I got splashed hard and ended up with a moat in the spray cover around me. Several other rapids that followed donated some water to the boat, but none like that one. We saw rafters running that section and couldn’t help but wonder how the guides kept it interesting. For an open canoe, it was good fun. For a raft, it seemed a bit slow.

The terrain opened up a bit. The Cairngorms still surrounded us but the riverbank was less wooded along the popular whitewater section. The glorious sun made it feel somewhat warm. By lunch, a swimsuit and a thermal top were enough to be warm.

We stopped in Aberdour to resupply. I went for the fruit, including fresh berries for dessert. Lucas went for unhealthy pastry. Each of us had different longings after several days of dehydrated food. I also picked up a bottle of water. Filtered river water was getting more difficult for me to drink.

Day four ended past the guidebook’s described whitewater but the rapids did not end. We camped on a large, knobby gravel island because both of us were ready to be done and I wasn’t optimistic about finding a better spot downstream. We slept on one of the few patches of sand big enough for wee tent footprint and cooked nearby. My evening ended prematurely with a migraine, but thankfully it lasted only an hour instead of the usual one to three days.

Day five continued the glorious, sunny warmth. On the river, it felt 20oC easily. Rapids continued. Nothing was enormously challenging, but we had plenty of waves to keep us entertained. We learned that the appropriate way to overtake a fisherman (or fisherwoman) was on the inside not the outside. Even though overtaking behind the back surprised some of them, it was more polite than being in the way of their casts. Epic mileage on day four gave us a shorter distance to the end. We could end at Fochaber with just a short walk back to the car but with the gorgeous weather and gorgeous view of the sea waiting, I was keen to continue and happy to run shuttle at the end, literally.

We took lunch below the bridges at Fochaber and enjoyed the surrounding views. The terrain had levelled significantly, though even here, wee rapids continued. The Cairngorms loomed behind us. After lunch, a long arched bridge spanned the river and I didn’t remember it at all from my stop at Spey Bay the last time. It looked like an old rail bridge, but was closed to traffic. I found it again on my run and saw signs for one of the national cycle paths leading across it.

We found still more wee rapids below the bridge as we wound our way among gravel islands. The water led us through the deepest paths. A few more bends and the River Spey opened up to Spey Bay. We could see the sea just ahead of us and small whitecaps from the waves coming in.

As we paddled across to the Spey Bay visitor centre, we avoided the last of the fishermen. Sea conditions did not look ideal for puttering along the north side of the beach, so we found a wee spot to access the walking path to the visitor centre car park. The weekend made for a much more crowded car park than when I attempted to set the shuttle earlier in the week.

Lucas started on disassembly whilst I got changed to run shuttle, literally. When I left him for my run, he had just started organising gear at a spot that had a nice view of the sea. The run took me along wooded trail beside the river. For the most part, signs marked my path the entire way. I took wrong turns twice. Once gave me an opportunity to see the converted railroad bridge and the other was quickly recovered. Midway through the run, I took off my long sleeve top and just ran in vest and shorts. According to someone at the visitor centre, it was 23oC and I wanted to enjoy every ounce of it.

Naturally, the run gave me the chance to start processing the trip a bit. I am sure for both of us, it was not the wilderness trip either of us had planned. It was beautiful, but inhabited. For me it compared with the Buffalo River in Tennessee, although slightly more developed. More wee towns. Many, many more fishermen. In an open canoe, we did not encounter the same fishing/paddling rivalry as the whitewater kayakers tend to see. More cows, more sheep. Definitely more sheep. The Spey is such a valuable resource, it makes a lot of sense why it was not a total wilderness experience. The three day descent started to make more sense, too. If run in the winter or spring, with much more water, pounding the miles doesn’t feel as much like pounding.

The run took me about an hour. The car was still at the town square when I got there. I took a few minutes to stretch, bought a Lucozade from the co-op and headed back to Spey Bay to retrieve Lucas.

Once the car was loaded, we took a light meal in the café and then headed toward Nairn trying to figure out a place to stay for the night. After much faff, we ended up at a B&B in Lossiemouth for the night. The owner recommended a restaurant that we both unrecommended the next morning. Five days of canoeing and cooking beside the river, no problems. First real meal in a restaurant afterwards, food poisoning. Life is full of ironies.

Epilogue: Not long after our trip, Lucas and I decided to go our separate ways. We both decided we were looking for different things and we would be better off parting now on good terms rather than dragging out the inevitable. I wish him well.

It rained pretty well all day on our first day of canoeing. It let up for a while around dinner time, so we set up our first camp on a small gravel bar.

Our campsite was a lot smaller the morning of Day 2.

The steam locomotive reminded me of Jake Shor and his fixation with Thomas the Tank Engine.

The River Spey runs from the Cairngorms to the sea. We started our trip from Kingussie because the few miles above it can be quite scrapey and frustrating at lower water levels.

Self portraiture

The rapids were never difficult to negotiate, but sometimes avoiding the fishermen was.

Lucas paddled the canoe to our campsite (Day 4).

River Spey becomes the tidal Spey Bay less than 100m from the sea. The get-out is anywhere sheltered behind the wildlife centre. On a calm day, you can paddle into the sea and along the coast to the Spey Bay Hotel.

I took the idea of running shuttle a little too literally.

Amsterdam - 1/9/2006-3/9/2006

Amy, Lucas and I met up with my lesbian lover at Schipol airport in Amsterdam. She had been there for work so we met up with her for two days of adventuring in and around Amsterdam. We saw more museums than we could count. For the first time in all of my trips to the Continent, I had no trouble finding yummy food to eat, which forced Amy to be adventurous. Accommodation is expensive in Amsterdam, so we stayed in one of the airport hotels at Hoofddorp instead. My lesbian lover and I enjoyed a 10 mile run around Hoofddorp and its countryside. If ever you need such a running route, you can find ours on Map My Run.

Lesbian lovers at the Homomonument